Silent House
by AngelOfTheSouthWest
Summary: A short story about how a member of the Weasley family copes with the loss of one of their own. Songfic. My first story so please read and review! Thanks. Over 185 reads yay!


Silent House

_These walls have eyes,_

_Rows of photographs,_

_With faces like mine,_

_Who do we become,_

_Without knowing where we started from._

A ray of light shone through the window of his parents room. It hit a photograph on the wall. Charlie Weasley walked over to it. It showed happy days. His mother and father when they were young and carefree. Before the weight of the world had slowly driven them into the ground. Charlie felt tears spring to his eyes. It was as if the sun was mocking the pain he felt.

His black suit looked out of place. Sombre in a room filled with love. He pulled a tissue out of his pocket. He had taken it from a packet that his mother had given him years ago. She had always tried to take care of him. Even when she was not quite sure who he was.

Charlie picked up a scent on the tissue. Somewhere between lavender, talcum powder and something that was distinctly his mother. As he wiped his eyes he felt more tears waiting to replace those lost.

_It's true, _

_I'm missing you,_

_And I stand alone,_

_Inside your room._

Charlie took a seat on the bed. Memories rushed through his head. Times when he had had to sleep between his mother and father after being woken by a nightmare. Other times when he had snuck in to wake them up early only to find them already awake waiting for him. His father would lift him into the bed and his mother would cradle him. He would soon fall back to sleep, breathing deep his mothers scent.

The house around him creaked and groaned the presence of his family. All of them were wandering around the house unsure of what they should be doing. It was true they had lost another not so long ago. As much as they missed Fred it had been a different matter. They had not had to look after him as he got progressively worse. He had not been the staple of the family. Charlie did not know how he was going to survive without his mother.

_Everything that you made by hand,_

_Everything that you know by heart,_

_I will try to connect all the pieces you left,_

_I will carry it on and let you forget,_

_I'll remember the years when your mind was still clear,_

_All the flickering lights,_

_They filled up this silent house._

It had all started in The Battle of Hogwarts. His mother had been so protective of her children, her grief for Fred had taken over her soul. The fight with Bellatrix LeStrange had been the end. A spell had hit his mother but she fought it off with sheer force of will. However, as everyone recovered from the war his mother only got worse.

It had started with small things. Calling them by the wrong names, struggling to remember simple spells, forgetting what she was supposed to be doing. In time it only got worse. She had blamed it on her age. Their mother used all her energy trying to tell them that she was fine. It was only when she collapsed in the garden that she admitted there was anything wrong.

The spell that had hit his mother, the spell thrown by Bellatrix, was slowly killing her. The doctors at St. Mungo's had tried everything they could. They were going to have to watch their mother die. They would have to watch as she slowly forgot them, as she forgot the life she once had.

_One room, two beds,_

_In the closet hangs your favourite dress,_

_Good books that you read,_

_Are in pieces now, the pages are shredded._

This room held memories. Charlie wanted to stay there as long as he could. Voices were calling his name from downstairs but he did not care. He got up from the bed and walked to the door. Quietly he closed it. He did not want his family to know he was shutting them out but he did not know what else to do.

He walked along the wall of photographs again. There he saw a photo of his mother when she was young. She had her long red hair loose around her face and she smiled out at Charlie. The green dress she wore was the one she wore on her first date with his father. Charlie had overheard her telling Ginny one day. Apparently she still kept it in her closet somewhere. She had intended to give it to Ginny on her eighteenth birthday but now she never would.

She would not help any of her children blow out the candles on their cake again. She would never sit in front of her dresser to comb her hair again. She would not be there to give advice on Charlie's wedding day and she would not meet her grandchildren.

_Everything that you made by hand,_

_Everything that you learned by heart,_

_I will try to connect all the pieces you left,_

_I will carry it on and let you forget,_

_I'll remember the years when your mind was still clear,_

_All the laughter and light,_

_That filled up this silent house._

It was all too much. How could he expect life to carry on. His mother was gone. He could not think straight. The emotions surged through his body like physical pain. He felt as if somebody had pulled out his heart and put it in the box with his mother. How could they put her in a box? How could they put her in the ground.

Charlie could hear somebody crying, calling out. It took him a moment to realise that it was him. Tears streamed down his face. He called for his mother, even though he knew she could not come to him. She could not hold him as he wept and make the pain go away. She was gone.

A small hand wrapped around his own. It tightened as he sobbed, letting him know there was someone there for him. He looked up to see his little sister looking at him with her eyes red. Tears were falling down her face too. She took Charlie's tissue out of his hand and wiped away his tears.

'Charlie, we have to leave,' She whispered to him, 'The car is here.'

The car. The car that would take him to watch his mother sent to the earth. Ginny slowly stood taking his hand with him. Charlie could not remember how he had come to be on the floor. He stood up as Ginny lead him from the room. As he reached the door he took one last look. This room epitomised who his mother had been. It was warm and filled with love. This was how he would remember his mother. The woman she was not the shell she had become. He would remember her as Molly Weasley, the mother he lost long ago.

_Everything that you made by hand,_

_Everything that you learned by heart,_

_Every name that you can't recall,_

_I will try to connect all the pieces you left,_

_I will carry it on and let you forget,_

_I'll remember the years when your mind was still clear,_

_And the flickering lights,_

_That filled up this silent house._

(A/N; This is my first story so please review, I'd like to know how I did. Thanks.)


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